In Total Surrender by Anne Mallory

didn’t seem to find the sudden conversational change strange. He wondered if she found anything strange.
    “No one pays attention to the elderly on the street. And your men seem quite loyal to you. Do you think they will give me away if they discover my true name? I figured that you would know who I was, and that that would be enough for our debt situation.”
    His men knew who she was without his having to say a word. He had a retinue following her at all times. And a girl from Mayfair wouldn’t be able to give hardened street rats the slip. The gossip would have spread quickly from the men who followed her to the men she interacted with at the hell.
    Kitchen conversations had probably been vastly amusing concerning the strange, bewigged society girl.
    The wig was truly awful.
    “Don’t wear it when you are in here.” Coldness spread, and he willed the words back. What the hell was she doing to him? “ Don’t come here at all. ”
    She smiled oddly at him, then carefully removed a few pins and shook her head, freeing her real hair from beneath the dowager helmet. Brown hair tumbled messily around her shoulders and down her back.
    He could feel the already broken quill break into another piece under his clenched fist but couldn’t bring himself to care. “Your reputation will be stripped if you are found here, yet you reappear every day. Which is much to my displeasure, Miss Pace.”
    She pulled fingers through the hair at her temple, looking at his desk as she did so, thank God. “My family’s reputation is the one I am currently trying to rebuild, Mr. Merrick, as I told you previously. It is that which I am concerned with at the moment. I need hardly worry about my own reputation if I cannot fix my family’s.”
    Her eyes met his for a moment, piercing, then she smiled softly. The hair on his neck rose. “I am quite pleased with my progress, though. And as a particularly valued investor in our company and fund, I will keep you apprised of all transactions, of course. And—”
    He held up his hand again and narrowed his eyes, watching everything about her. She waited patiently, expression bright. As if she were perfectly innocent and naïve. Sparkling like fresh morning dew. Only occasionally slipping to show the workings of a keen mind behind the daftness. Sitting there thrusting that something at him, drawing his interest.
    He didn’t think she was acting. She was innocent and naïve, and sharp and clever. It was irritating. Repulsive. Captivating.
    The sudden financial silence of the Pace affairs in London had seemed a godsend for the past week—the only bright spot. Since with her hassling them in the East End, when would she have time to do other things?
    But if he forced himself to think on it—and her—the silence meant someone in James Pace’s company was extensively plotting.
    And that person was very likely seated across from him.
    He studied her. There was a twinkle in her eye. It was nauseating even to recognize such a gleam. She was up to something. She had taken great care, but though well covered, there were smudges under her eyes that bespoke of long nights and too much responsibility.
    Plans swirled—strategies formed—vines of ideas and alternatives twirled around and gripped possibilities. Dissonance and dread.
    “Very well, Miss Pace. You will give me a weekly report on the fund and your company. When you gather details, bring them directly to me before speaking to others.”
    Once a week. He could do it. Better to see her once a week and be on top of any possible machinations.
    He turned back to the papers on his desk and searched until he found an unbroken pen. And if she wasn’t going to worry about her reputation, he sure as hell wasn’t. She could damn well bring him information directly. She was going to come anyway, obviously. And better than dealing with a half-wit, gibbering accountant. “But I don’t want to see that wig once you enter.”
    Shit, damn, cock,